


Going Down Swinging

by KateLouisaRose



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fighting Kink, M/M, Strength Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2741102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateLouisaRose/pseuds/KateLouisaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has a thing for watching Arthur fight; watching that bead of sweat trickling down his neck, the thud of his fists against a punching bag, the strength and fight that drive him. He decides it's time Arthur taught him how to fight back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Down Swinging

Merlin stands with his legs bent, taking the brunt of Arthur's heavy blows as he steadies the punching bag. He can't help but watch curiously as the muscle jumps and flexes beneath Arthur's skin with each forceful punch. The sky is overcast, and there is nobody on the training field to follow the line of Merlin's gaze as he tracks a bead of sweat trickling from Arthur's hairline to the bridge of his nose. Nobody sees Merlin's pink tongue dart out to wet his lips as he watches Arthur's focused determination and feels the steady thud of his fists against his chest like a second heartbeat.

"Keep it steady, Merlin." Arthur grunts at him, and Merlin clamps his knees around the bag, braced for the next hit. The next hit ends up being the one which breaks the punching bag from the chain it hangs on and sends Merlin sprawling across the grass. Arthur stands over him, panting heavily, and Merlin just stares up at him, dumbfounded, glad that the punching bag landed between his legs. Arthur offers him a hand up and Merlin can't bring himself to take it, aching all over and paralysed with embarrassment.

"Honestly, Merlin," Arthur comments, "you're shaking like a leaf. You need to learn to take the hard hits."

Merlin just nods, trembling all the way back to his room when Arthur dismisses him for the next few hours. He falls down onto his bed and lets out a soft moan, pushing his breeches down his thighs and bringing himself off in no time at all.

When he recovers, he tries his best not to think of the way Arthur's eyes hardened with the pleasure of throwing those punches, or how easily his body settled into that fighting stance. Merlin rubs a hand over his eyes and sits up, still feeling the impact of Arthur's fists against his chest and craving their brutality. Arthur as a knight is far different from Arthur as a prince. Merlin just hadn't realised before how much Arthur lights up in the throes of battle.

He stumbles into Arthur's chambers later that night, arms laden with food and drink, and sees the prince sitting on his bed, flexing a poorly-bandaged hand.

"Sustained an injury, have we?" Merlin asks, and his own voice sounds strange to his ears. 

"Nothing I can't handle." Arthur responds, standing up and strolling over to the table Merlin has set with his evening meal.

Merlin watches him for a moment, seeing the way Arthur flinches with every small movement of his fingers on the damaged hand.

"You need that bandaged properly." Merlin tells him, sneaking an apple from the table and taking a bite.

"Are you going to do it?" Arthur scoffs, and Merlin briefly entertains the notion of bending down beside Arthur and taking his hand in his own, and shakes his head as a sudden rush of adrenaline courses through him and sets his body tingling at the thought.

"I'll ask Gwen to come and see you," he answers through a mouthful of apple. Arthur nods absently, and Merlin wipes a dribble of juice from his chin.

"Are you going to stand there all night watching me eat, or are you going to leave with any more of my food?" Arthur says mildly, and Merlin clears his throat awkwardly.

"I had an idea," he ventured.

"Perish the thought."

"I thought that since you said I need to learn how to take it hard,"

"Take the hard hits," Arthur corrects him with a raised eyebrow.

"Right, the hard hits," Merlin swallows thickly. "I thought that I could help you train more often. If you like."

Arthur seems to think for a moment, chicken leg poised halfway to his mouth. "You know, that's not a bad idea." He says at last. Merlin grins. "But don't think I'll be going easy on you," Arthur cautions, but Merlin's grin only widens.

"Oh," he says cheerfully, "I don't mind."

Arthur gives him a suspicious look. "There is something very wrong with you." He tells him.

* * *

Their next training session doesn't take place for another few days. Apparently there are princely duties which need attending to before one can 'swing a sword about for fun', as Arthur reminds Merlin when his manservant continues to press the matter.

It's a warm, sunny day when Merlin finds himself strapped into some very uncomfortable armour and herded onto the training field. Arthur swaggers into the arena in front of a nerve-wracking amount of casual spectators,  swinging his sword confidently and giving Merlin one of his infuriating 'I told you so' looks for every blow Merlin takes. It's not nearly as intimate as the last time, and Merlin finds himself sweating terribly but quickly learning how to parry Arthur's strikes with his clumsy movements. Arthur bests him as easily as swatting a fly, and Merlin again ignores the hand that Arthur offers to him as he lies in the dust, and struggles to his feet angrily.

"What's the matter, Merlin?" Arthur asks mockingly. "I thought you wanted to learn how to fight."

"Not exactly," Merlin mutters under his breath, but he follows Arthur's pert bottom into the armoury and shucks the heavy chainmail and vambrace first.

"Well I can't say you didn't try." Arthur says as he claps Merlin on the shoulder, but Merlin ignores his thinly veiled joke.

"I want to keep practising," he tells him stubbornly. Arthur stops after pulling his shirt over his head, looking doubtfully at Merlin. Merlin just turns away before Arthur can catch him staring at the broad expanse of his bare shoulders with wonder.

"Maybe some one on one practising would help," Arthur tells him, and Merlin tries his very best not to sound too eager.

"Maybe."

"Tomorrow, then?" Arthur continues as he throws his shirt into the corner. Merlin knows he will have to clean that later, and knows how it will smell of Arthur so strongly that Merlin will want to sleep wrapped up in it.  

"OK."

* * *

Tomorrow afternoon is accompanied by a light drizzling rain and the kind of cold that seeps right into your bones. Merlin stands, shivering and waiting for Arthur to fetch the swords. When Arthur jogs back towards him though, all he has in his hands is a padded suit which he throws in Merlin's direction.

"I'm not wearing this," Merlin tells him.

"We're fighting without weapons today," Arthur says smugly, "do you want to be beaten to a pulp?"

Merlin shakes his head, but it takes an effort of will. "I'm still not wearing it. We should fight equally."

"I hardly think a fight between you and I can be classed as equal," Arthur laughs, but Merlin just settles into the same fighting stance he has seen Arthur use countless times, and narrows his eyes, wet fringe sticking to his forehead.

Arthur shrugs, and begins by explaining a few of the rules. They don't have a circle to fight in, or an audience, but Arthur seems strangely unconcerned with any of that. His eyes are locked onto Merlin's and there is something in that look which makes Merlin's face flush with heat despite the cold.

It takes half an hour for Merlin to fall down, which they both regard as a significant improvement. Merlin kneels dejectedly on the ground, body caked in mud and the last gasps of laughter escaping from his tired lungs. Arthur stands over him proudly, and this time when Arthur offers his hand, Merlin takes it with a grin.

The rain has set in now, big, heavy droplets splashing on the churned up earth where Merlin and Arthur stand facing one another. Arthur has mud streaked through his hair and up his arms. Merlin has a brown lash of dirt across his cheek and is covered from head to toe in bits of grass and clumps of dark earth. They are grinning madly, chests heaving.

"You're feinting too much to avoid confrontation," Arthur shouts at him over the roar of the rain. Merlin nods, cold water sluicing down his back. "You need to engage quickly."

Merlin just bends his knees and gets ready to fight, legs rigid with cold and hands beginning to turn numb. He won't give up this moment for all the world, though. Seeing Arthur so excited and alive is reward enough for every punch he takes and every round they go.

Arthur charges at him, far from the tactful force he's been up until that moment. He gets Merlin in a headlock instantly, and Merlin curses him loudly, feet kicking wildly and trying to take Arthur's leg's from under him. He succeeds and they go down in a heap, Arthur crushing Merlin with his weight. Merlin just groans and goes limp, legs falling open and arms flung out on either side.

Arthur is laughing when he lifts his head from Merlin's shoulder, body shaking. He looks down at Merlin spread beneath him and his laughter stops so suddenly that Merlin lifts his head in confusion. He catches Arthur's gaze, rainwater dripping from his hair and body pressed completely against Merlin's. Merlin takes a shuddering breath and knows that Arthur can feel the tightening in his breeches. Arthur shifts, not to move away but enough that they are rubbing accidentally against one another. Merlin flinches but Arthur's eyes grow dark and his wet and muddied hand brushes Merlin's throat delicately. He raises his eyes and Merlin reaches for him, madness overtaking him. He drags Arthur's lips to his, hands grabbing desperately at Arthur's sodden clothes and hair, and Arthur gives a moan that is half a sob and traps Merlin's body beneath his, mouth warm and wet and open against Merlin's like he wants to inhale him into his heaving lungs. Arthur presses against him, hips moving slowly and rubbing their erections together with no more of the fear that had held them back before. His cold hands slide beneath Merlin's shirt against his warm skin and Arthur relishes the flat plane of Merlin's chest like another person would admire a work of art.

Merlin shakes for Arthur, smearing the mud onto his skin without realising or caring as he touches every part of him he can while the rain pours around them. When Arthur's eager hands begin fiddling with the laces on Merlin's breeches Merlin stops him.

"Inside," he pants, and Arthur can't argue with him as a strike of thunder crackles overhead. They trip and stumble through the halls, trailing mud behind them all the way to Arthur's chambers. Merlin falls through the doorway first and Arthur slams the door behind them. Merlin had been scared that once they were inside all of Arthur's passion would diminish, but Arthur gathers Merlin to him and crushes a kiss against his lips, pushing him towards the bed. Merlin bounces as Arthur shoves him down and crawls on top of him. They are dirtying the bed sheets with their muddy clothes, but Arthur just rolls them over so that Merlin is on top and strips Merlin's shirt from him. Arthur pulls his own clothes off all at once, but forces Merlin onto his back as Merlin tries to take off his own breeches. Merlin just watches and moans as Arthur bites harsh kisses onto his protruding hips as he lowers the breeches, but cries out in pleasure when Arthur takes him in his mouth right down to the base.

"Oh gods, oh gods Arthur oh gods," Merlin mumbles incoherently, hands combing distractedly through Arthur's hair as he realises that Arthur must have done this before. Arthur 's tongue traces the underside of Merlin's cock and Merlin shudders.

"Arthur don't," he gasps, "don't, I will-" But Arthur pulls off just before and muffles his pleas with another kiss.

"Shut up," Arthur growls, and Merlin does. Arthur stops kissing him and Merlin peers at him for a moment before wordlessly wiping a smear of mud from Arthur's jaw. Arthur starts to laugh, and then he's kissing Merlin through his laughter, and Merlin is sure he's going to die from Arthur's every touch that raises goose-bumps on his skin.

“I knew you wanted this,” Arthur says against Merlin’s throat.

“Yeah?” Merlin asks. He no longer cares. Arthur doesn’t respond, but his hand is between Merlin’s legs and he’s squeezing him just a little and Merlin gives a hoarse moan and wraps his legs around Arthur’s hips. When Arthur slides a finger inside, Merlin’s body tenses and he whines softly and takes another two before Arthur is pushing so slowly inside him and Merlin is rocking against him desperately. Arthur knocks their noses together, one hand running feverishly through Merlin’s hair. Arthur finishes first and brings Merlin off with his mouth, and Merlin gasps and moans and then doesn’t speak for a long time.

* * *

“You have mud on your…um…everywhere.” Arthur tells him after some time, one arm trapped beneath Merlin’s head, laying on his back and watching Merlin out of the corner of his eye. Merlin just grins and teases a knot out of his hair with his fingers, flicking bits of dirt at the floor. Arthur pulls his arm out from underneath Merlin’s head and walks over to a wash stand on the other side of the room. He inspects his face and the purple bruises along his cheekbone and shoulder.

Merlin sits up in Arthur’s bed. _Arthur’s bed._ He touches the delicate sheets he has changed so many times before and marvels at their quality, and how completely they have been ruined. He turns his head and Arthur smacks a wet washcloth into his face. Merlin splutters and rips it away, and Arthur is laughing and Merlin takes a moment to appreciate how ridiculous he looks before he grabs Arthur’s arm and pulls him onto the bed. Merlin kisses him tenderly, pulls away and shoves the washcloth in Arthur’s face, laughing as he smears the dried mud across his skin. They don’t leave the bed until noon.


End file.
